In spring, dogs walk over dead leaves

just as in fall,

but it’s all leftovers:

the yellow grass,

the threat of last-gasp snow,

the clouds both ominous and featureless.

It's a used up world,

with only flowers to prove me wrong so far,

and we really need the sun

to make us shine.

April 8 2021

Like knowing how to put on a shoe really well:

These things take time,

and you can be well into adulthood before you catch on.

Amazing how long you can live without learning,

especially given the relief of finally understanding

how to do it right.

March 9 2021

I Won't Call the Ocean (Version 1)

I won’t call the ocean

at the end of the street a wall,

fool my eye how it wants to.

I can’t live with that kind of limit;

I need to see the slate as never ending,

and on it written the lyrics

to the song of the circling world.

April 4 2021

I Won't Call the Ocean (Version 2)

I won’t call the ocean

at the far end of the street a roof,

fool my eye however much it wants to.

I can’t live with that kind of limit;

I need to see the slate as never ending,

and on it written the words

to a song that encircles the world.

April 6 2021

On a chilly winter day in spring,

I walked my dog, as is my wont.

Stoic daffodils wore masks

of beautiful endurance,

and reborn birds sang patience

to tell me I could do this.

Summer’s just a little further on,

and you’re armored now

against the dying wind.

April 17 2021

Watch the rock and moss continue,

one to weather,

one to grow.

So still.

April 26 2021